A brief-yet-ongoing journal of all things Carmi. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll reach for your mouse to click back to Google. But you'll be intrigued. And you'll feel compelled to return following your next bowl of oatmeal. With brown sugar. And milk.

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Thursday, July 05, 2012

20 years on...

Hard to believe two decades ago tonight I married my best friend. Part of me wonders how 20 years can go by in a blink, while the other part of me feels like I've known her forever, and forgets what life was ever like without her.

I know I don't make life easy on her. I'm forgetful, often losing keys, GPSs and phones between the kitchen table and the front door. She knows that look that I get as I wander the house looking for whatever it was that I lost. Inevitably, she finds it. And finds me, too. I sing. Badly. I often disappear spontaneously when some tech company has a bad day, and she smiles that understanding smile as I head into a studio, disappear into my darkened office, or wander out to the car in my jammies to do another interview. She listens intently when I read back something I wrote, unsure whether it's remotely readable. She'll tell me if it sucks, then tell me how to fix it.

She finishes my sentences, reads my mind and eases my conscience. She shows me the way when I'm blinded by fear, calms me down when I get overwhelmed and makes sure I don't starve no matter what I'm up to. She's there when I awake in the early morning darkness and again when I crash out long after any sane person should have tucked in. She sees me off in the morning before I drive into the pre-dawn murk, with an encouraging "kick butt" and a tight hug to help ground me before I sit in front of a camera in a darkened, tomb-quiet room and talk to countless strangers about stuff that sometimes seems too complex for words. She helps me find those words, gives me the confidence to do what I do, gives me the room to make it happen. She makes my soul come alive, convincing me that anything is possible even if everyone else outside our amazing little family has already shared otherwise. She makes me believe. She makes me want to be better.

She is an incredible mother, a constant force in our kids' lives, the very center of their respective worlds. They adore her, emulate her, never miss an opportunity to spend time with her. They've learned to cherish the intangible gift of time by simply following her example. They are mirrors of her as a result, and every time I watch them move, listen to them talk, hold their wiggling forms in my arms, I'm reminded of her.

I'm far from perfect, yet she sticks with me. Because she gets that imperfection is part of the deal, that the fire we have deep inside matters more than the warts we may wear on the surface. She's beautiful inside and out, as anyone who's privileged enough to call her a friend already knows. She's taught our kids that inner-beauty thing, too, which is another reason why I love her as much as I do.

I've become who I am because of her, and know that my life's journey would have been a whole lot different, and a whole lot less fulfilling, if I hadn't been on it with her. She chose me, and not a day goes by that I don't thank my lucky stars that she did. Thank you is inadequate, but it'll have to do for now. Along with a wish for another 20, and another, and however many more years the selfish me can get with her. Because as incredible as these 20 have been, I'll always want more. She's just that kind of person.